the begging bowl

there are beggars all over the place in Bangkok, crouched low on the sidewalk with their cups extended. some are crippled, some are deformed, some are young children or young mothers. they shout their pleas for charity, and i can’t bring myself to give because of the look in their eyes. it is not a look i feel charity towards. this has caused me some strife this week, because every trip inches away from one of these destitutes fills my heads with shouts of who are you to determine who deserves charity? what would god suggest you do? you have ample, these people don’t even have feet. selfish, self seeking, self centered. but ultimately i don’t believe them. i believe they see themselves as victims of their fate, and i for all of my warring voices, cannot support victimization, even of the self.
then yesterday, i happened upon someone quite different. an older, square-faced woman with close-cropped grey hair. she crouched on the sidewalk, silently extending her flimsy clear plastic cup towards the sky. her face was calm, not pained, and she uttered not one word. immediately the book the begging bowl filtered into my mind. this is a woman, Buddhist, who is accepting graciously whatever we passersby place in her begging bowl, or cup, in her case. the action was the same, but the tangible motives were very different. i walked a few meters past her, bewildered by what she meant to me in the split second we shared air, then doubled back and gave. even now, reliving it, i hear that it wasn’t enough, i should have given her everything i had and more, she is more spiritually advanced than i am, i would trade places with her for a day so she could feel my comfort. but is mine actually comfort? here is a woman whose very existence and sustenance rely on the gifts of the universe through us human vehicles. all she has is god and the gifts therein. i have complicated my relationship with god, and there are now several layers between the two of us. this woman, to me, seems to be an unadulterated vision of spirituality. and she never even looked at me, her face remained serene and grateful. i wonder where she goes at night?